


Triangle

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-13
Updated: 2008-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester was sure of three things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triangle

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Written for [](http://destina.livejournal.com/profile)[**destina**](http://destina.livejournal.com/) 's birthday. Thank you to [](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/profile)[**embroiderama**](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/) for the lovely beta work.

By the time he was twelve, Sam Winchester was sure of three things.

The first was his big brother.

The second was the truth of creatures that were only bedtime stories to many.

The third was that his father knew how to kill those creatures.

The burlap sack over his head was scratchy and smelled gross, like things unwashed for a long time, like old food. Sam heard two thumps, then felt the thick arms grasping him let go. He slammed to the ground and lay still, heart beating triple time, listening as the heavy steps thudded away, the growly mutters of what might have been words.

A heavy scrape and a click snapped out, and then silence followed. Only then did he start to squirm free of the sack, the fabric getting caught in his mouth, making him gag. He struggled out of it and flung it to one side.

There were two shapes lying on the floor of the cave nearby, outlined in the flickering light of the torch burning in a niche on the wall.

“Dean!” Sam crawled across the cave floor, pulled the sack off his brother's head and shoulders. “Dean, wake up, c'mon. Please. Wake up.”

“Ow. Shit. My head.”

Sam slumped with relief. He put out his hand, touched the sticky trail of wetness down the side of Dean's face. The blood gleamed in the flickering light.

“Sammy? You okay?” Dean grabbed Sam's wrists and peered at him.

“I'm okay.”

“Dad,” Dean said, voice gone taut but flat the way it did when he was trying to hold in the panic.

Together, they crawled over to the large shadow lying near the cave wall.

The way Dad stayed limp as Sam tugged off the sack made his stomach go icy. “Dad?” he hunched over, closer to the warmth his father's body gave off in the chilly space of the cave. He had blood on his face the same as Dean.

Looking up, Sam met Dean's eyes and saw the fear reflected back.

“Dad!” Dean said, louder, and gripped Dad's shoulder so hard his knuckles went paler than normal in the torchlight.

Dad grunted, opened his eyes, focused on them. “Motherfuckin' ogres,” he rumbled out. He put his palm to his forehead, pressing against the blood, took a few deep breaths. Then Dean helped him sit up, and he fixed Dean and then Sam with a sharp look each. “You boys okay?”

“Yes sir,” they said together.

Reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, Dad pulled out a balled-up piece of white cloth and put it to Dean's forehead. “Hold that there. Direct pressure.”

“Where are we?” Sam said, his voice coming out small.

“One of their caves,” Dad said, getting to his feet. He walked along the wall, fingers trailing along the stone, until he found the massive boulder that marked the entrance. “Sticking us in storage like we're meat. Which we are.” His mouth twisted. “I really hate ogres. Be easier if they were as stupid as they look, but they aren't. Don't assume that just because something's clumsy and big as an ox that it's as dumb. Must've scented us, they were waiting.”

Shivering, Sam remembered the three of them in the bright autumn afternoon, Dad in the lead, picking their way down the slope from the bridge, Dad and Dean holding big curved blades. It'd been Sam's job to follow with the shotgun. Ogres wore armor with vulnerable points at their neck, shoulders, and legs, so a precise, sharp blade was better than iron shot, Dad had said, but it couldn't hurt to have backup. They were supposed to sneak into the caves and take the ogres out while they slept.

The rest was confused. He'd heard the crash of large bodies in the bushes around them, and then something grabbed him, Dad shouted, the sack went over Sam's head while rough hands wrenched the shotgun from his grip. He'd heard grunts and struggling, an inhuman bellow of pain, and the thud of flesh. Dad had called out _Dean!_ , and then he'd heard nothing else.

And then Sam was being carried, with no idea where his father or brother were.

“This sucks,” Dean said, joining Dad at the boulder.

“Sam, over here, help us push.”

The three of them put their shoulders to the boulder and shoved, grunting.

The boulder wouldn't budge. Dean leaned back against the cave wall, breathing hard. He put the blood-stained cloth to his head again.

Dad hadn't bothered with the blood on his own face, and the way it streaked down the side of his head gave him a frightening look in the torchlight – Sam thought if the ogres could see him now they might think twice.

“Let's try again, boys.”

“Wait.” Sam reached into the pocket of his windbreaker, where he had napkins left over from lunch. They were balled up and stained with mustard but he didn't think Dad would mind too much. “Here,” he said, and held them up to his father.

“Thanks, Sammy.” He gave a small smile and pressed the napkin to the wound on his head, then bunched the napkin up in his hand and shoved it in his pocket. “Okay, on three. One, two, three.”

They pushed again. Jagged stone pushed against the soles of Sam's sneakers as he dug in, trying to get enough purchase.

That went on for what felt like forever.

“Damn, damn, _damn_.” Dad kicked at something, a loose rock, and it hit the wall with a sharp crack. Then Dad shoved his hand through his matted hair, and glanced down at Sam and Dean. For a moment he barely moved, just watched them, his chest rising and falling. “Here's what we're going to do,” he said finally. “Sam, you're going to find as many loose rocks as you can, make an arsenal, pile them up over there. Dean, you'll be there, and I'll be here. They'll come in for us soon.”

“They took our weapons,” said Sam.

“Not all of them.” Dad reached down and pulled up the leg of his jeans. There was a long knife strapped to his calf. He removed it and handed it to Dean. Then he reached into his other boot and found a shorter knife. “Ogres are smart,” he said, teeth flashing white with a grin in the dark, “but not as smart as they could be.”

“Not as smart as us.” Dean smirked. He braced the sole of his boot against the cave wall, knee bent, and rolled up the leg of his jeans where he also had a knife strapped to his calf. Dean twirled the knives, and Dad laughed, face brightening with pride for a second, the look that happened only for Dean.

Sam didn't mind so much. In the torchlight, the blades of the knives gleaming as they stilled in Dean's hands, Dean looked like a hero, like someone almost not real.

He got busy gathering loose stones, listening to his father and brother as they talked moves and strategy, who would stand where.

They sat down to wait beneath the torch, their backs against the cave wall, Sam in the middle with Dad and Dean's shoulders brushing against him. He grew sleepy. After a little while he felt Dad shift, so the back of Sam's head was resting against his chest, Dad's arm around him, Dean leaning against Sam on the other side.

The scrape of rock against rock came when the torch had burned down another few inches. Dad pulled Sam to his feet. While Dad and Dean got into position on either side of the boulder, Sam went to his pile of stones. They formed a triangle with Sam at the point.

He hefted a stone in his hand, drew back his arm. Dad glanced at him, gave a nod that had the warmth of approval and encouragement in it, and Dean, crouching with his knives in the shadows, smiled as the boulder started to roll aside.

Sam Winchester was sure of three things.

They were all there together in the torchlight, waiting for the monsters.

~end


End file.
